09-22-2018, 10:20 PM
This hazardous waste dump of a colony dramatically required some touch-ups, ones that cleared the clutter, ones that effectively eliminated the empty space. Saying that Morgan was committed to changing Tanglewood’s current state would be an understatement - the icy samoyed’s interests weren’t only in changing, he wanted to fucking revamp this place. Clearing out the woods, getting rid of the trash at the beach, scouring the junkyard for objects, these were just a few of the activities the general had taken the helm of, and he was not finished there. Instead of handing out fun weekly tasks like hosting a game night, or starting a party, the Tanglers were receiving jobs mainly revolving aroun labour. Evidently, Ophelia did well with hers given directive.
A place to hang out was always fun. You could socialize, drink, commemorate an occasion, basically anything. Based on the situation that things have gone quiet in these parts, it appeared that this building would fall short on expectations. That is, if Leroy wasn’t planning on partially living here. I mean, look at this place. Wide open area, lots of food and drink, it’s the perfect place to stay. Better than tiny huts, at least, and especially his, which was filled to the brim with his vast collection, severely limiting the little room he had in that abode.
"Y’know, I coulda help wit’ this if ya wanted," he’d say humorously, strutting up to the architecture. That statement obviously wasn’t true, as he had a task of his own to get to: painting the docks. He’d already gathered the paint, and was now merely procrastinating until the perfect moment. He was quite impressed with the job Ophelia got done, what with the little amount of time it took and the resources she had.
On a more personal note, pages were constantly turning in that vulgar and vague mental vocabulary he had. Ophelia and him were sort of growing on each other, or, that’s what he thought at least. The feline was the nicest being he’d ever met, and, frankly, was quite attracted to that positive aura she emanated. He needed to return the favour every now and then, and recognizing that others had yet to show up, it was the best opportunity to say something nice.
”I’m, err, proud of you - and this,” the wolfhound stammered, obviously new to interaction that didn’t involve sarcasm or lying - as well as stealing limbs.
A place to hang out was always fun. You could socialize, drink, commemorate an occasion, basically anything. Based on the situation that things have gone quiet in these parts, it appeared that this building would fall short on expectations. That is, if Leroy wasn’t planning on partially living here. I mean, look at this place. Wide open area, lots of food and drink, it’s the perfect place to stay. Better than tiny huts, at least, and especially his, which was filled to the brim with his vast collection, severely limiting the little room he had in that abode.
"Y’know, I coulda help wit’ this if ya wanted," he’d say humorously, strutting up to the architecture. That statement obviously wasn’t true, as he had a task of his own to get to: painting the docks. He’d already gathered the paint, and was now merely procrastinating until the perfect moment. He was quite impressed with the job Ophelia got done, what with the little amount of time it took and the resources she had.
On a more personal note, pages were constantly turning in that vulgar and vague mental vocabulary he had. Ophelia and him were sort of growing on each other, or, that’s what he thought at least. The feline was the nicest being he’d ever met, and, frankly, was quite attracted to that positive aura she emanated. He needed to return the favour every now and then, and recognizing that others had yet to show up, it was the best opportunity to say something nice.
”I’m, err, proud of you - and this,” the wolfhound stammered, obviously new to interaction that didn’t involve sarcasm or lying - as well as stealing limbs.